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Georgiana bit her lip nervously—she understood which duet Elizabeth meant—but she seated herself on the bench beside her friend.
This particular bit of silliness had been inspired by a performance Elizabeth had observed once in Meryton, where two sisters in the Hamilton family had been determined to outperform each other—even when performing a duet. Each had attempted to play with more flourish and louder than the other until the entire piece dissolved into a cacophonous mess.
As they played, Elizabeth and Georgiana deliberately bumped each other and pushed each other’s hands out of the way, placing arms on top of hands and striking the keys more and more forcefully. Only halfway through the piece, both women were laughing too much to continue.
Elizabeth caught Mr. Darcy smiling, without any evident sign of disapproval. “Have we assaulted your ears long enough?” she asked pertly.
He lifted an eyebrow and considered before responding. “While I would not say the listening experience was precisely pleasurable, there is enjoyment to be had in observing others enjoying themselves.”
Expecting censure, Elizabeth was confused by Mr. Darcy’s reaction. Perhaps he was simply happy to observe his sister laughing. Richard had said his cousin was concerned about her lack of spirits.
Elizabeth rose from the bench. “I should allow you time alone with your sister.”
“No stay, Elizabeth!” Georgiana insisted. “I shall ring for tea.”
Darcy’s eyes caught and held hers with an unnerving intensity. “Yes, stay for refreshments.” Elizabeth glanced away, her body tingling with that vague unsettling sense she always felt in his presence. Did he truly wish for her company, or was he only inviting her for his sister’s sake?
“Of course,” she murmured. “If you wish.”
“Miss Bennet.” Something in his voice compelled her to meet his eyes. “I do wish it. Most ardently.”
***
For how long had he been staring at nothing? Darcy once again concentrated his attention on the letter from his steward at Pemberley. Blast! He must have read this passage three times. He could blame exhaustion; he had not slept well in the past weeks. Truth be told, it had been months—since his ill-fated visit to Rosings—since he had experienced a complete night of rest. Brandy or port before bed helped him to drop off, but he frequently awakened in the middle of the night.
However, if he were honest with himself, he would admit the true reason for his inattention this night was straining his ears for the sounds of Elizabeth’s arrival. His study was near the back of Darcy House, and activities at the front were often muffled.
It is of no matter when she arrives, he reminded himself. She is Georgiana’s guest, not mine. Despite delivering stern lectures to himself all morning, he knew he would be helpless to resist the sounds of Elizabeth’s voice singing or gently teasing his sister.
It was pathetic. A grown man. The master of Pemberley. And he could not stay away from a woman any more than a small boy could resist an illicit sweet.
Perhaps he should resume his routine of repairing to his club when she was due for a visit. But that was almost worse. He would wonder where she had sat, what she had said, which dress she had worn, and what she had eaten. He worried anxiously whether she was happy. If Richard had returned from his estate. If he had kissed her….
Darcy attempted to keep his visits to the music room short. He said little and addressed as few comments to Elizabeth as possible. But he had an overwhelming need to simply share her presence and bask in her essence. He wanted to observe the power of her fine eyes and see where their gaze alighted. He wanted to provoke that arch smile and teasing glance. Above all, he wanted to remove her to Pemberley and make love to her.
Darcy shook his head sharply. He must suppress such thinking. Richard’s prolonged absence was both a blessing and a curse— for it permitted him to fantasize that Elizabeth was his.
Darcy pushed himself out of his desk chair, hoping some movement would help. At Pemberley, he would often use a long ride to clear his thoughts, but it was impossible in London. He loathed the forced inactivity.
He poured himself another brandy, despite knowing he should not indulge so early in the day, but he could not discover a different means of quieting his roiling thoughts. At least each glass of brandy rendered his feelings a little more distant.
The crystal clinked, and the liquid splashed into the glass as he poured. Darcy heard no sounds of girlish laughter or quick feminine footsteps in the hall. Elizabeth had been engaged to visit Georgiana and stay for dinner the previous day but had sent a note delaying by a day. What if she was ill? Fear gripped Darcy, and he was seized with a desire to burst through the study door and seek out Elizabeth immediately.
Get a hold of yourself!
Darcy clutched the almost empty glass and forced his leaden limbs into the chair. Georgiana would inform him if Elizabeth were sick.
But would the Gardiners know the best doctors in London? He knew Elizabeth’s aunt had several children. Would she have time to adequately nurse a sick niece? What if the Gardiners themselves were sick?
Darcy rose again with the intention of seeking out Georgiana when he heard the front door knocker sound. He sank again into his chair, relieved and a bit foolish.
However, he did not hear Elizabeth. The muffled voice sounded like a man’s. Was he to have no relief from his worries over Elizabeth? Darcy scowled at the paper spread on the desk before him as if it were responsible for his confusion.
A moment later, a footman opened the door and announced, “Colonel Fitzwilliam, sir.”
Richard strode in, rumpled and travel-worn. His mouth was set, and worry lines were carved around his eyes. Darcy’s anxiety about Elizabeth’s health returned twofold.
Darcy clasped his cousin’s hand. “When did you return to London?”
